


Interrogation

by Starkzilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Bondage, Demons, Devil's Trap, Dom/sub, F/M, Holy Water, Knifeplay, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11049942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkzilla/pseuds/Starkzilla
Summary: Sam tries out a few new ways to deal with troublesome demons.





	Interrogation

The rough sheets under her body are completely soaked through by the time he finishes his first round of interrogation. Has it been hours? Days? It’s hard to tell.

 

On occasion the sun’s rays struggle past the layer of dust on the windows, helping her figure out some semblance of time, but the dilapidated house is usually devoid of most outside light, or any light for that matter. All she has is the sensation of fabric rubbing against her skin, the vibrations caused by his boots hitting the floor when he approaches, the sound of his voice in her ears, and the warmth coming from his skin once he’s near.

 

But none of it can compare to the burning heat of the thick leather cuffs buckled into place around her wrists and ankles, heavy iron chains connecting the cuffs to the headboard and the reinforced poles at the foot of the bed. Engraved with warding sigils and lightly coated with a thin layer of rock salt paste on the interior, the sturdy restraints set her skin on fire. She’s torn between enjoying the sensation and trying to free herself; she always was a bit of a masochist when it came to salt.

 

“Take them off!” she eventually hisses, her dark brown eyes staring up at him as he joins her on the bed, positioning himself so he looms over her. His knees come to rest on either side of her hips, trapping her legs in place, as the knife he holds in his right hand glides along her cheek and lower jaw line.

 

“Take them off or what?” His voice, as usual, is kind but confident, with a budding gruff edge that will still never match that of his brother’s. It might even contain a bit of the cockiness she’s encouraged in him just to taunt her. He knows he has her just where he wants her and there’s nothing she can do about it. Even if she could wriggle free by some miracle or spell, the devil’s trap carved into the mattress still has her bound in place.

 

It’s just how and where he wants her and the thought of such a strong demon restrained and helpless under him makes him smile. Her eyes narrow in defiance and she bucks her hips up, trying to throw him off. He doesn’t budge. The sharp edge of the blade traces a line along her collarbone. There’s just enough pressure applied so she can feel it but know that he’s not going to indulge her that easily.

 

“We had a deal!” growls the demon as her eyes turn a shade that’s as black as tar. “You promi—!”

Her words suddenly stop as the knife slices open the skin below her right breast, quick as the kiss from an awkward lover. She hears and feels his breath lingering above the shallow cut he just made. His hesitation is enough to make her start to smirk as she thinks she’s gained the upper hand but that quickly changes when his tongue laps up the trickle of blood that leaks from the path his knife left behind.

 

The air she doesn’t even need to take into her empty lungs catches in her throat as she fights the urge to arch her back. Inside her mind she’s telling herself to not give in so easily but, when she watches him lick her blood from his lips, she can’t help but shiver with growing excitement under him. It’s one of the few downsides to having a meat suit that’s empty of any of its former humanity; instead of being able to hide behind the host’s emotions, hers have the annoying habit of showing whether she likes it or not.

 

He knows exactly what he’s doing to her and that’s why he takes his time before lowering his head for another taste. Her blood is electric; the dark red liquid makes him feel like when he was younger and he put a 9-volt battery on his tongue. It’s all sparks with a hint of danger, but amplified to the point where it almost overloads his senses. He knows he shouldn’t love it as much as he does but it’s too late. He’s going to Hell anyway so he might as well enjoy the view while it lasts.

 

She manages to keep herself composed until his free hand moves up along her right side, his calloused fingers tracing along the scars she refuses to talk about despite him wanting to know more, his hand cool compared to the infernal heat making her skin inhumanly hot to the touch. As his lips form a seal around the cut he made in order to draw more blood out she curses at him in a long dead language while yanking on her restraints until they rattle.

 

“Is something wrong?” he asks, still sounding cocky but there’s an unspoken “are you _okay_ with this” tone to his words. She briefly considers the idea of lying to him, the demon she is wants to string him along and regain the upper hand, but she smiles up at him instead and bares her teeth.

 

“No. It’s just that I’ve been broken by better,” she smugly answers, and that’s the only reply he needs. He licks the edge of his knife to get any remaining blood off of it then drops it onto the floor. With both hands now free he sits back, shoves her legs apart as far as the chains will allow, and reaches for something concealed in a front pocket on his jeans.

 

She can smell what’s inside the vial he pulls out before she even sees it. The shudder that shakes her body from head to toe this time is one of barely controlled fear and, when she blinks, her eyes go from that unholy black to doe brown and back to full black again. He looks down at her, his unspoken question still present as he rubs his thumb along the cork keeping the vial shut. She looks back up, clenches her jaws, and exhales a ragged breath before giving him the slightest of nods. His own expression briefly softens before he returns to his role and pops the cork free.

 

Trying to keep calm is easier said than done. She starts to take in silent breaths through her nose and watches him dip each of the fingers on his left hand into the clear liquid the vial holds. In her head everything begins to slow down, like what happens when someone’s watching a train rushing towards their car when they’re stuck on the tracks. As his hand moves to hover above her abdomen her eyes focus on the droplets forming on his fingertips.

 

He’s unsure but keeps his hand steady so none of the forming beads of liquid roll off too fast. It’s a dangerous line they’re both balanced on right now. He watches her face for any changes in emotion but her eyes are locked in on his fingers. She doesn’t even blink until the first tiny bead of what looks like water breaks its hold and gravity takes over, pulling it down onto her bare stomach.

 

The pain that blossoms from such a little thing takes her breath away. Wisps of black smoke rise from her smooth skin as another droplet lands just a couple inches away from the previous one. Then another. And another. And another. She doesn’t scream but that’s not for her lack of trying. She just can’t form any sounds that aren’t shallow hisses as her body tries to move away from the burning sensation on her stomach.

 

He waits exactly five seconds, no more, no less, before collecting more of the clear liquid onto his left thumb and then sealing the vial with its cork so he can place it aside. She’s sweating even more and her eyes are slightly unfocused as if she’s watching something that isn’t even in the room.

 

“I thought demons enjoyed suffering,” he comments right before his thumb brushes against her skin and he traces a steady line with it, linking together the reddened spots where the droplets fell onto her. She forces herself to watch him and, despite how much it burns, she manages one raspy laugh when she realizes how he aligned the blemishes to form an inverted pentagram.

 

“Fuck you,” she spits out, the pain in her voice making her sound far more aggressive than she’d meant to. He stares down at her as his face goes blank and, for a brief moment, she wonders if maybe she’s overstepped her role in this little game. She can see his lower jaw tighten like he’s thinking, considering his next move, and she wishes he’d just finally say something, anything, to break the silence now lingering between them.

 

He doesn’t say a word as he rises off of her, the bed creaking as the added weight is lifted from its aged frame. He turns his back and the fear rises in her stomach, burning more than the holy water had just minutes before. Licking her dry lips a few times she works up the nerve to say something but he moves before she has the chance, his back still facing her, his hands grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and moving up so the black fabric pulls off of him in one smooth, slow motion.

 

He knows she’s watching him and that’s exactly why he’s taking his time. He’s probably just as nervous as she is but he’s not going to let her know that, not when he currently has the upper hand. He can hear her shift around on the bed, trying to angle herself for a better look at his wide shoulders, at the muscles on his back that have a serpentine flow to even their most subtle of movements despite him being as big as he is.

 

She’s also grateful that he can’t see the hungry glint in her eyes when his hands move down to the front of his jeans. He unbuttons them but doesn’t go to take them off. She can feel a different ache building in the pit of her stomach while her eyes trace lines over his lower back, his hips, and when he finally turns to face her there’s a dark smile on his lips. Internally she curses his hips for barely keeping his jeans on, for distracting her from realizing his hand’s grasping her chin and forcing her eyes to meet his.

 

“Is that an order or a request? You’re in no position to make either,” he whispers down to her, his voice hitting that low tone that’s somewhere between _hunter in business mode_ and _challenge accepted_ , the one that makes her feel like she could listen to him perform an exorcism and not give a damn. When she doesn’t immediately answer him he tilts her head back further to get her attention. “I asked you a question.”

 

“Like you said, I’m not in the right position. Do you have a right position in mind?” Her eyes narrow and she smirks up at him, tilting her head so a bit of her hair falls onto her face in an attempt to look coy. Her shoulders roll in a casual shrug as she tugs on her wrist restraints. He almost laughs. Almost. She spots the amused glint in his eyes before he slides back into his role and slides onto the bed at the same time. The motion pushes his jeans down even lower as he straddles her hips like he’s done it hundreds of times before.

 

He fits her almost too perfectly sometimes. It’s not a thought she likes to dwell on and, thankfully, her mind’s got other things to focus on at the moment. His right hand comes to rest right next to her side on the mattress, thumb grazing her skin, and his left hand brushes the cut he made earlier, rough fingertips ghosting the edges he knows she’ll let scar over, as a reminder, before moving up to stroke against her perked nipple. The sharp inhale she makes is a good start but he can do better than that. When he moves like he’s about to leave again she rolls her hips under him, expression annoyed but determined.

 

“Just like I thought. You hunters are all talk. I’m shocked you can even finish a job in the first place.” She lets a bit of her bitchiness enter her tone, letting her body curve in on itself a little like she’s cutting him off from her personal bubble. Maybe that was a bit too far and she feels a lingering bit of regret forming when she spots him closing off a bit of his emotions again. She’s expecting him to end things so, when he grabs her right leg in one hand to pin it down, using his body weight to keep her left leg in place, and strokes two fingers along the trail of slickness between her thighs she lets out a very un-demon like noise of surprise.

 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.” He lets his fingers linger in place but moves his thumb up to rub along the edge of her clit, gently stroking one side then the other in an almost absentminded, far too casual for the situation sort of manner. His fingers press against her again before he slips them inside, waits for her to adjust, and curves them upwards just slightly so they press against her front wall. He knows her weak spots, the areas that make her twitch, and when he resumes teasing her clit at the same time his finger begin to move in shallow strokes her skin’s already starting to flush.

 

He almost feels guilty but the subtle panting noises she’s started making immediately erase all of that from his thoughts. Her legs tense under him, her hips trying to lift in order to get him to hit just the right angle, but he pushes her back down onto the bed with his right hand and keeps on teasing her with his fingers until he feels her starting to tighten around him. He switches up his movements from short, steady motions to something firmer, moving his fingers in as deep as they’ll go until his hand is cupped against her, the angle allowing him to keep up the pressure on her clit with both his thumb and the palm of his hand at the same time. It also lets him be able to lean down, his hair brushing against her damp skin, and gently trace a path from between her breasts all the way up to her lips.

 

When she comes the first time it’s like a bolt of lightning running up her spine. Something white flickers in the corners of her vision and she presses her mouth against his, trying to pull him into the wave of sensation along with her. He resists, barely, his fingers moving with her hips to coax another shivering release from her body. By the time she’s about to hit her third he sits up, carefully slides his fingers out of her, and smiles like the devil himself while she watches him lick each digit clean.

 

“Third time’s a charm.” The words are barely out of her mouth by the time his jeans land on the floor in a hastily discarded heap and he’s reaching to unlock her restraints, the chains falling limp without her tense body to keep them pulled tight. Her movements are just as urgent as his, her legs wrapping around his hips as he leans into her, one hand pressed against the anti-possession tattoo on his chest, her other hand moving to clutch at his back as her nails dig into the muscles there. He slides into her with no resistance and she’s so small compared to him, so soft, that he almost forgets what she truly is.

 

He tries to hold off as long as he can but she knows how to move in just the right way, when to clench down and when to ease up a little, whispering quiet little things in his ear to push his buttons until he can’t keep up a steady pace and he surrenders to what his body wants. His breath comes out in a choked snarl as he tries to push himself even deeper into her, holding her tight against him and, for a moment, he feels as hot as the demon blood in her veins and he can’t think straight.

 

When he’s able to open his eyes and his senses return he smiles down at her, gently laying her back on the bed while still inside her, savoring the rare moment of closeness before it passes. She pushes a stray lock of his sweat-damp hair behind his ear and smiles back at him before giving him a quick kiss.

 

She decides not to tell him his eyes are as black as hers.

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Miguel's "Going To Hell" and it conjured up an idea for a Sam/Ruby story, since there's never enough Sam/Ruby fic in the world. I also love the idea of Sam and Ruby having a bit of a friendly power struggle in their relationship.


End file.
